


Garage Itch

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Crack, Fucking Machines, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of James and his new mechanical obsession. Set in August 1998.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free Dildo for the Dumb

**Author's Note:**

> Old crack smut fic, stemmed from a Rockfic chat, spurned worse in conversations with Audrey. I almost hate myself for this.

_This is stupid._  
  
James stared at the metal gathered on the floor, piled beside a black box. In his hands were the blueprints. He pressed his fingers down, twisting the papers a little.  
  
_What am I doing?_  
  
For today, his cars lived outside the garage. He didn’t want anyone or any _thing_  seeing this. It was probably the guilt in his head talking, but he’d feel worse knowing Nadine (the Chevy) or Sarah (the Coupe) or motherfucking  _Dorothy_  (the GTO) saw what he was making. Planning on making.  
  
On the black box, James read the word ‘Machine.’  
  
“Shit.”  
  
He really didn’t have to do this. Yes a thousand bucks was now wasted in buying the actual parts —  _thank god for P.A’s that ask no questions and do as told_  — but in the long run, it didn’t matter. If this didn’t work, he’d take the parts and use them for something else. At least the wood and metal. He could disassemble the motor too. And, well… those other things…  
  
James eyed the special white box beside the ‘Machine.’ On the side, it read: ‘Length: 7 in (17.8cm). Diameter: 1.5in (3.8cm). Circumfrence: 5.25in (13.3cm). Latex-free.’ The damn measurements.  
  
His face felt hot.  
  
“ _Shit._ ”  
  
It was a fluke, a joke. The boys pitched in, bought him porn for his birthday. Jason bought the usual vanilla stuff that was good enough for foreplay, and the rest laughable when drunk. Kirk always scored the good stuff. And Lars gave the Danish weird stuff that made him wonder what his best friend did in the sheets, and he stopped his thoughts from going any further with that.  
  
Of course, it was in Lars’s Danish shit that he found  _the_  porno that started it all. Started this. Gave him ideas.  
  
The title still lived in his brain.  
  
Butt Machine Boys 3.  
  
_As if they needed not just one, but_ two _sequels._  
  
James groaned.  
  
“ _Shiiiiit_.”  
  
His head flopped down.  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
It shouldn’t have been hot, watching a bunch of guys fucking a dildo attached to a motorized piece of steel. It wasn’t  _supposed_  to be hot  _at all_. He popped in the VHS for fucking laughs. Butt Machine Boys 3—what kind of shit did Lars give him now? So he made some chili beans and hot dogs, popped it in, drank a Bud and readied for two hours of comedy.  
  
Not even twenty minutes later, his food laid on the floor untouched, along with his pants.  
  
By the time it finished, his hand was dirty, his stomach was wet, his food was cold, and all he wanted to do was shower and sleep.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
James looked at the blueprints again. On the concrete floor, next to his foot, was the help book that came along with the package. The title read:  _How to Enhance Your Pleasure with the Dick Dexterous._  
  
It should’ve made him laugh. It only made his pants tighter.  
  
_Son of a bitch._  
  
After bothering his PA to help him set up Windows, dial-up and AOL, he started to research. First, to see if this thing existed on the internet (there was no way he was going into a sex shop, for anything, ever). When he found it did—the exact model too, the  _Dick Dexterous_ —he walked away, drank some beer, got the credit card, drank more beer, typed down the numbers, drank a few more beers, stared at the screen, drank a few more, and then clicked ‘buy’ before he passed out on the couch.  
  
A week later, it showed up on his doorstep. Another week passed before he even touched the box itself. And now, three weeks later, there it was, in his garage, at his feet, ready to be assembled and used.  
  
The Dick Dexterous.  
  
A fucking machine.  
  
_What the hell is wrong with me._  
  
He could take it back. Put everything back the way it was and forget he even bought the damn thing. But he knew himself too well, and once he started something, he had to see it to the end. That, and it was hot. Somehow.  
  
James stared at the blueprinted fake cock (Fig 6) attached to the steel pole (Fig 7).  
  
He groaned.  
  
_Why did it have to be so fucking hot?_  
  
“Fuck it.”  
  
The chair skidded on the concrete when he stood up. He folded the blueprints, dropping them to the floor, beside the self-help book.  
  
“You know what? It’s okay, Hetfield.”  
  
He picked up the box. Whatever was inside rattled around. His fingers reached for the top.  
  
“If it doesn’t work, at least you got a free dildo out of it.”


	2. The Machine James Built

Setting it up wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be. Twenty minutes later, the whole thing laid on the floor put together. He situated the chair like he saw in the movie, and aimed the — he checked the blueprints — “thruster” up pretty easy. It stayed in place too.  
  
He checked the blueprints again. His eyes scrolled over the specifications: stroke length, 2 in - 6 in; torque, 14 in; horsepower, 1/30th; legs 12 in wide, 17 in tall… infinite settings for speed and stroke power, 0 - 130 strokes per minute.  
  
“Damn.”  
  
He glanced over at the machine. The still-unopened dildo box laid beside it. On the side, it read in big, bolded lettering:  **VAC-U-LOCK 7.5” THIN REALISTIC COCK.**  
  
His dick twitched again.  
  
“You’re an idiot, Hetfield.” He closed the blueprints, walking out of the garage. “A fucking idiot.”  
  
A good dinner, a long shower and a hell of a lot of alcohol consumed later, he was ready. Getting the TV set up in the garage took some time, and he realized when he almost dropped the damn thing onto the floor, he should’ve drank  _after_  he moved the box and VCR onto his work table. But he managed through the alcoholic haze, searching out his long extension chord and weaving it into the house without (too many) hazards. The bruises on his hips and thighs, and the huge bump on his forehead, would eventually go away.  
  
He popped in the VHS. Already the tape was wound to the scene that caused this whole mess to happen, and he paused it to analyze the position, furniture used and angle.  
  
On screen, a muscled blond hunk bent over a wooden chair, his knee propped up on the cushion, his foot firmly planted on the floor. One hand squeeze the head of the chair in a death grip, the remote control caught between his palm and the wood. The other was frozen mid-stroke of his seven (eight? nine maybe?) inch dick. And his face was all screwed up in pleasure, lips twisted in teeth, eyes shut tight.  
  
His hand alternated stroking and squeezing his crotch.  
  
It wasn’t difficult to set up. He grabbed a kitchen chair, stole a cushion from the living room and replicated the screenshot within a few minutes. The old flush of doubt came racing back when he propped his knee up on the cushion, and he raced into the kitchen for more shots of Dutch courage.  
  
“Okay.” He slammed the glass down onto table, heading back to the garage. “Let’s do this.”  
  
He snatched up the dildo box the second he returned, ripping the lid off. It felt real in his hand when he fished it out. Like a real dick. Nicer than the other dildo he had in his drawer.   
  
The dildo box landed on top of the other boxes behind the work bench. He glanced at the TV as he set it up on the “thruster,” and then stepped away once it was on.  
  
His fingers poked it once, twice. The “thruster” didn’t move.   
  
He pushed it again, a bit rougher.  
  
No movement at the base. Just the dildo’s tip moved a little.  
  
“Alright. Should be good.” He took a deep breath, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Yeeep. All good. Good, good.” He abruptly turned on his heel. “Fucking shit, one more.”  
  
The scotch still burned his throat when he came back, naked finally. He snatched up the TV remote from the work table and pressed play.  
  
“Fuck, ahh fuck,” the guy moaned.  
  
 _Don’t think._  He focused his attention on the screen, following along.  _Just don’t fucking think._  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Ooh. Oh  _yeah_.”  
  
His knee sunk into the cushion. His other foot planted down on the cold concrete. The dildo’s tip rubbed him.  
  
“Yeah, fuck, yeah. Agh. Shit.”  
  
 _Don’t think. Don’t fucking think._  
  
“Shit, shit, oooh shit.”  
  
He reached over for the remote. The black chord weaved down the ground, around to the motor behind him.  
  
 _Just don’t—_  
  
James froze.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
He looked behind him. To the side. The other side. The work bench. The work table. The cushion.  
  
His hand holding the remote flew to his forehead.  
  
“Goddamn it.” He bumped his forehead again and again with the heel of his hand. “Stupid stupid  _stupid!_ ”  
  
The movie paused again. He stood up, the chair skidding on the floor.  
  
 _How could I forget the fucking lube?!_  
  
Half an hour later, after scrambling on clothes, sitting in the car, realizing half a second later he was drunk, getting out of the car, calling up his PA five times, shouting at his PA, waiting for his PA and threatening said PA at his doorstep “you tell anyone you got this for me I castrate you and make it look like an accident,” he returned to the garage with a big bottle of Astroglide.  
  
“God _damn_ it.”  
  
He returned to position as well, picking up the remote and pressing the back button. The tape rewound to the beginning of the scene.  
  
On the screen was that hunk again, cooing “ooh yes ooh” while the dildo moved slow.  
  
The TV remote landed on the floor. He glared at the machine behind him.  
  
“You better be fucking worth it.”  
  
Common sense told him to go slow. It wasn’t like he played with his ass all the time. Impatience wore out though, and he grunted, winced and hissed his way through prepping his ass up for that damn dildo. A big glob of lube smacked onto the dildo, a quick slicking up, and everything was ready.  
  
 _About time._  
  
He aimed his ass down, watching the guy on screen. His dry hand holding the remote rested on top of the chair. The other, wet hand went to his dick, giving it a few good strokes to get it up again.  
  
His fingers slowly turned the knob.  
  
 _Here we go…_  
  
The dial clicked away from the word ‘off.’  
  
Slowly, it pushed in.  
  
And out.  
  
Small, short strokes. Easy tempo. With each pump came a small  _click_  sound. Click, pump, click, pump, click, in, click, out.  
  
He bent his back a little. Spread his thighs a little.  
  
The chair squeaked under him.  
  
 _Click_ , in.  _Click_ , out.  
  
He grunted. “Shit.”  
  
The guy on the screen fiddled with his remote.  
  
James followed suit. The dial moved two notches up.  
  
Deeper strokes. Faster clicking. His hips moved to the new rhythm. The guy’s loud “ooh, oh fuck, fuck” and moans and grunts were louder than his.  
  
“Uhn.” He stroked his dick faster too. “Fuck.  _Fuck_.”  
  
 _Click click click_  went the motor.  
  
His fingers pushed the dial two more notches.  
  
 _Click click click_ — _pump pump pump_  the dildo inside— _schuck shuck shuck_  his hand on his dick.  
  
The guy on-screen wrapped his arm around the chair.  
  
James followed along, bending his hips right.  
  
“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck…” He grunted. The chair moved a little. “ _Fucking_  shit. Fuck.”  
  
Deeper. Faster. He shook his head— _no no don’t push it don’t_ —but his fingers already turned the dial up two more notches. Then two more. Then another two. And his head fell forward onto the chair. His foot slipped off the cushion. He lifted his ass up, the curve of his back a deep dip, and his whole hand worked his cock, from head to base, pump, squeeze, stroke, pump, squeeze, stroke, and the motor  _clickclickclickclickclickclick_  and he shook from arms to thighs, sweating, moaning, losing grip  _oh my god oh my god oh my god_ —  
  
His voice vibrated when he moaned, “Ooooh myyy gaawwwwd—”  
  
And he shrieked, coming all over the chair and his hand.  
  
He collapsed onto his knees, his hands clinging to the chair’s top. The remote fell out of his hands, tumbling to the floor.  
  
Behind him, the motor still went  _clickclickclickclickclick._  
  
His hot breath blew back into his face, his face buried in the chair cushion. All over, his body felt like jelly.  _Real_  jelly.  
  
 _“Shit.”_  He panted. “ _Shit._ ”  
  
By the time he moved again, the scene had changed. He watched the movie enough to know it was towards the end of the whole thing.  
  
His hands slowly let go. One flopped down over his pounding head. The other searched the floor blindly for the remote.  
  
A few seconds later, the  _clickclickclick_  slowly reduced to a stop. James let go of the remote to fold his trembling arms over his head.  
  
“ _Shit_.”  
  
The movie rolled its credits when he felt ready to stand up. He left everything behind for the bathroom, wincing and hissing the whole way there.  
  
A thorough bath, and a check up of his sore ass later, James returned to the garage. He turned off the TV, the VCR and picked off the used dildo from the “thruster.”  
  
His foot nudged the machine. “Well.” He glanced at the dildo in his hand. “ _Damn_.”


	3. It's Electric

“So.” Lars sounded pleased as punch over the phone. “How were the presents?”  
  
“Pretty good.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“ _All_  of ‘em?”  
  
James mumbled around a spoonful of Corn Flakes, “Yep.”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Well.” He left the kitchen for his office. “It’s not like I jerked off to  _all_  of them.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Tch.” James fixed the phone onto the other side of his ear. “What do you want, details?”  
  
“If you’re willing.”  
  
“Bye Lars.”  
  
“Hey! Don’t you—”  
  
 _Beep._  
  
He dropped the wireless phone onto the computer desk. Not a second passed before it started ringing again. He ignored it for the computer monitor, relaxing back into his leather computer chair.  
  
On the screen were webpages on top of webpages in his AOL browser. He clicked around, scrolled a few pages and images, until he settled on one finally.  
  
 **THE STEALTH FUCKING MACHINE. $500 - 550.00 USD**  
  
“Hm.” He ate another spoonful of Corn Flakes. “Looks good.”  
  
The phone rang on as he read:  _This compact, streamlined sex machine is small but strong. The Stealth is a cost effective, sleek and powerful fucking machine that has many quality components and features. The machine is easy to use and easy to store. The machine speed is adjustable from 0 - 120 strokes per minute…_  
  
His concentration ended when his pager rung on the desk. “Dammit Lars.” He picked up the phone on its next ring. “What?”  
  
“That was rude.”  
  
“Then don’t ask stupid shit.”  
  
“It was a joke!”  
  
“Uh-huh.” He rested his cereal bowl on the desk to free his hand.  
  
“It fucking was. Don’t be a dick.”  
  
“Whatever.” He scrolled down the page to read.  _It features an infinite stroke setting from 1 - 5 inches—_  
  
“So did you see it?”  
  
 _Simply loosen the adjusting knob—_ “See what?” _— by hand, reposition to the desired depth—_  
  
“That tape. You know.”  _The Stealth will easily work with all Vac-U-Lock dildos—_ “The butt machine one.”  _—and is great for anal penetration._  
  
His dick twitched in his robe. “Yep.”  
  
“Really?” Lars sounded shocked.  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“And?”  
  
He scrolled down to click ‘buy.’ “Weird, hilarious shit.”  
  
“Ha! I know right? First time I saw it, I about nearly busted my gut. I mean, fuck. Who would do that, uh? It’s like getting fucked by power tools. Imagine that. Just putting a dildo on your drill and—yeech! How do people find that hot? Fuck. I don’t get it. Not my thing.”  
  
He typed in the credit card numbers. “So why’d you have it?”  
  
“Uh?”  
  
“If you don’t like it, then…”  
  
“I don’t! Fuck, it’s just weird porn I found. Don’t get any ideas there, Hetfield.”  
  
“I’m just saying.” He clicked ‘place order.’  
  
“Oh, so just because I happen to be the one who had the weird porn when we met. European porn is weird man, okay? It’s for fucking laughs. Some of it is hot as hell, and some of it is absolutely fucking weird. Like that machine shit. Okay?”  
  
“Don’t need to get defensive.”  
  
“I’m  _not_.”  
  
“I believe you.” He clicked on ‘print confirmation page.’ “Hey Lars.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“How much money should I spend per month?”  
  
“What am I, your accountant?”  
  
“Well, you’ve got good judgment on stuff.”  
  
“Oh great. What did you buy now?”  
  
“Some car parts.”  
  
“Again?”  
  
“Nadine needs a fix. Transmission busted.”  
  
“Ugh. I don’t see why—nevermind. Just tell me how much you’ve spent already.”  
  
“About a grand, almost two.” He picked up the printed page with the FedEx tracking number at the bottom.  
  
“How much right now?”  
  
“Five hundred something.”  
  
“Okay. Well, try not to go over three grand. Pretty sure your accountant won’t kill you for that. God knows mine bitches at me for spending five to six grand a month. But we are touring in a few weeks, and then we’ve got that covers album to do, so that’ll be something. Speaking of, did you finalize on any songs for us to listen to?”  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
“Alright. Kirk’s got some lined up already, same with Jase. I’m working on mine. It’s a fucking  _bitch_.”  
  
“I bet.” The chair rolled away as James stood up. He left the office, paper in hand. “Mmk, I’m gonna get ready now. Got shit to do.”  
  
“Yeah? Like what?”  
  
“Like enjoying my fucking time off, that’s what.”  
  
“With the porn?”  
  
“With my garage.”  
  
“Same thing.”  
  
“Bye Lars.”  
  
“Oh come on—”  
  
 _Beep._  
  
He padded over to the garage, untying the sash to his robe. It pooled behind him onto the concrete floor as he entered, heading straight for his new machine,  _The Sharpshooter_.  
  
 _Well._  He grabbed the tube of Astroglide.  _Lars wasn’t_  too _far off._


	4. Metal Up Your Ass

At nine in the morning, a week later, James made a very important phone call from his kitchen.  
  
Three rings later, it picked up. “Dr. Monroe’s office.”  
  
“Hi. Is this Mary?”  
  
“Speaking.”  
  
“It’s, uh, Mr. Tyler.”  
  
“Um…”  
  
“You know. Mr.  _J_  Tyler.”  
  
A pause. “Oh! Oh, Mr.  _Tyler_ , of course, how are you?”  
  
“Not great. Is the doc in?”  
  
“Yes, he just arrived a few minutes ago.”  
  
“Can I talk to him for a bit?”  
  
“Mm, he is pretty busy today.”  
  
“It’ll only take a minute. Promise.”  
  
“Well… okay. Just a second. I’ll transfer your call over.”  
  
“Thanks Mary.”  
  
The wait was long enough for James to situate the ice pack better beneath his ass. Then: “Hello, Dr. Monroe speaking.”  
  
“Hi Doc, it’s James.”  
  
“Ah, good morning! What seems to be the problem?”  
  
“Uh.” He squirmed. “It’s a bit—” He winced, pain shooting up his spine. “Embarrassing.”  
  
“You might as well be blunt. We  _are_  on borrowed time here.”  
  
“Um. Okay. You’re right. It’s…” James covered his red face with his free hand. “My ass.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“It’s… sore. Really sore.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“And I’m wondering what to do.”  
  
“How did it get sore? Are you experiencing irregular bowel movement?”  
  
“Uh yeah. Yeah.”  
  
“Diaherrea—”  
  
“Yeah, ate something wrong, bathroom, all that stuff, yeah.”  
  
“Are you still—”  
  
“No!” He grimaced, pulling at his hair. “No no no. Not at all.”  _Oh my God just answer the fucking question._ “My tummy’s good, I’m good, it’s just the ass. Sore ass.”  
  
“Just sore?”  
  
“Just sore.”  
  
“No itching?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Okay. The best way is to soak yourself in the bath tub with some warm water, and then apply some petroleum jelly to the rectal area. You might want to invest in a donut pillow as well. It’ll take some pressure off. But don’t worry. It sounds like you had a bad case of E coli. It should go away in a day or two. But if it doesn’t, I want you to come in for some further testing. Alright?”  
  
“Uh yeah, sure, thanks, bye.”  
  
_Beep._  
  
He dumped the phone onto the kitchen counter and buried his head into hands. “Uuuugh.”  
  
The ice pack ended up in the kitchen sink. He winced the whole way, with a hand on his lower back, to the garage, where four fucking machines stood in a row.  
  
James kicked the latest one, the  _Monkey Rocker_ , out of principle. “Stupid thing.”


	5. Machine 'Em All

Another week later, James came across a very important problem.  
  
“Are you kidding me.”  
  
He clicked through a few more webpages. Bondage furniture, sex toys, anal titles—titles that he all recognized and knew.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
A few more clicks. A few more webpages. He scrolled past some titles. Butt Machine Boys 1 and 2 (4 was coming out next year), Butt Lovers 1 through 4 (no machines, but still hot), Cocky Boyz 1 through 7 (the first one sucked), Dick Dastardly Goes Into Deeper Space 9 (no thank you)… the rest of the titles, he knew. They were on the other websites as well.  
  
“I don’t believe it.” He shook his head and leaned back, slumping into his chair. “Fuck.”  
  
He turned around. In the library of his office were the porn titles he bought, to watch in the garage. They took up a whole row. On the floor laid three boxes of latest fucking machines to assemble.  
  
From what he saw online, they were the last ones too.  
  
 _Dammit._  
  
Half an hour later, it seemed hopeless finding anything new to watch, or to buy. He was ready to give up, until one title caught his eye.  
  
He read it aloud: “Butt Buddies 3000?”  
  
The synopsis was just as ridiculous as the title:  _Are you man enough for the mission? Capt Titan Cam and his crew of sexy five astronauts investigate the strange but exotic planet of Buff 9, home to a race of intelligent and strangely erotic beings… with a penchant for bondage and machines! Probed, analyzed, forced “mating,” the horror! Can the crew escape their captors…or will they want to? Celebrated director Dick van Suck elevates hardcore fetish yet again to both a new level of intensity and artistry—_  
  
His phone rang.  
  
“Ugh.” James took his hand off his dick to pick up the call. “What?”  
  
“Oh hi James, how are you?”  
  
“What do you want Kirk?”  
  
“I’m doing great, thanks, how about—”  
  
 _Beep._  
  
Kirk wasn’t like Lars. He called back half an hour later. By then, he finished buying the VHS on express next-day delivery, setting up the first of the last fucking machines in his garage and poured a bowl of Captain Crunch to eat.  
  
James picked up the call in his kitchen. “Hey.”  
  
“Better now?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Figured I caught you at a bad time.”  
  
“Pretty much.” He ate a spoonful of cereal. “So what’s up?”  
  
“Just wondering if you have time to listen to some of my tracks.”  
  
“Covers album?”  
  
“Yeah. Lars already heard them. He liked them all, except for one. There’s not many, just three.”  
  
“Mm. I dunno.” He walked over to the garage. “I’ll be busy this afternoon.”  
  
“Tomorrow maybe?”  
  
“Sure. I should be free then.”  
  
“Great. I’d like to have you hear this before we go back on tour soon. I’ll see about bugging Jase today for a listen.”  
  
“Sounds good. See ya later.”  
  
That night, he went easy on himself. Some hot porn, quick jerking off while sucking off the thrusting dildo from the Pleasure Box, and a good night’s rest. There was no way he was wearing himself out that fast, when he had something coming the next day.  
  
The title arrived in the morning. He finished watching two hours later.  
  
Slumped on the ground, the machine thrusting behind him, James stared blankly at the screen, where two of the aliens forced a big guy into two machines — one for his ass, one for his mouth. And the guy was clearly enjoying himself.  
  
“ _Fuck_.”  
  
Around noon, after watching that scene, and other forced group sex scenes a few more times, James made a phone call to Kirk. “Hey, you think you can come around now?”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m bored as shit here. Let’s hang.”  
  
“Alright! I should be there in about twenty. That okay?”  
  
“S’fine.”  
  
“Great! See ya.”  
  
“See ya.” He dropped the phone to the floor and jerked off faster. “Shit. Fuck.” His legs spreader wider, hips pumping up into his hand. “Ah fuck…”  
  
On the screen, the alien leader grabbed the poor Captain Titan Cam by his curly black hair and forced his mouth onto the dildo. “Suck it, human pig. Suck it nice and good.”  
  
The captain quickly turned into Kirk in his head. He looked too much like Kirk to begin with. And there Kirk was in that contraption, wincing, moaning, tears on the corner of his eyes, his ass fucked hard by the machine and its big dildo, his mouth fucked equally hard too, helpless, controlled—and James came all over his hand and his stomach, slumping into his chair.  
  
“Fuck.” He stared up at the ceiling, blinking slow. “ _Fuck._ ”  
  
From the TV, he heard the defenseless captain grunt and groan.  
  
James wiped his clean hand against his brow.  
  
 _This isn’t going to work._   _This is fucking stupid. This is_ Kirk _for fuck’s sake. What the fuck are you thinking? Really. What are you doing?_  
  
He glanced at the TV screen again. Captain Titan—Kirk—was still helpless in the machines.  
  
His fingers drifted alongside his inner thigh, up to his balls.  
  
 _Goddamnit._  James groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut.  _Why is it so HOT?_


	6. Ride the Machine

It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it’d be. The initial elaborate plan of listening to Kirk’s music, drinking some beer, ushering him into the garage, showing him some porn, touching, kissing, jerking off, dildo-showing and then somehow connecting all the dots to machine fucking—all of it didn’t matter in the end.  
  
Not when Kirk walked into his office and saw one of the boxes on the floor.  
  
“Oh my God is that what I think it is?”  
  
“Um.” James felt like sinking into the carpet. “Uh.”  
  
Kirk grabbed it. “Holy shit.” He turned it around in his hands. “Holy fucking shit.” And he laughed, reading the front cover: “‘The Vick Versatile Fucking Machine, a great choice for the Machine in You.’”  
  
“I can explain—”  
  
“Let’s set it up.”  
  
“—every… huh?”  
  
“C’mon!” He hugged it underneath his armpit, elbowing past James. “Where to do it. Living room? Kitchen? The garage maybe?”  
  
“Uh. Uh.” He shook his head. “Wait, hey!” James scrambled after him. “Kirk!  _Kirk!_ ”  
  
It was too late when he watch Kirk open the garage door and step inside.  
  
“Oh my God!”  
  
James stopped, a hand slapping to his forehead. “Oh no.”  
  
He nearly fell over when Kirk shouted, “Awesome!”  
  
Forty minutes passed. Forty minutes that encompassed the most embarrassing moments James ever endured in his thirty-five years of living, which went, in order: fumbling over his words while explaining how the situation began, fumbling further while showing the porn that started it all, blushing and wanting to die naming the models and the specifications of each one, and then the hiding his face in his hands while Kirk like a sex connoisseur examining all the dildos he acquired per purchase before finally settling on one, only to say at the end, “Astroglide? Really? Fuck that. Be right back.”  
  
And now, here they were: James, sitting on a chair, while Kirk, kneeling on all fours on a yoga mat he happened to have with him in his trunk, fucked himself on the Vick Versatile.  
  
“Fuck! Fuck yeah!” Kirk jerked himself off faster. “Oh yeah, fuck! Ugh, that’s it, yes.  _Yes!_ ”  
  
And he was really, really enjoying it.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
Really.  
  
James tilted his head to the side, propping it up with his fist, watching Kirk’s hips go. His other hand went to his crotch, unzipping his jeans.  _It’s like a live porno._  
  
He came before Kirk did, staining his shirt, his jeans and his hand. Kirk flopped face first onto the mat when he came, shrieking like James did the first time, come spurting over his hand. The machine  _clickclickclick_ ’ed on, until Kirk finally got his bearings and turned it off.  
  
Kirk groaned, “Nngh.” He turned his head to James, cheek planted to the mat. “Wow.”  
  
James panted back, “I know.”  
  
“Can I take this one?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You have seven.”  
  
“Get your own.”  
  
Kirk groaned again.  
  
He allowed Kirk into his bedroom to have a quick shower, while he cleaned up shop in the garage. A quick bite to eat in the kitchen, James escorted him to the door and said, “This stays between us, got it?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You tell no one.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Not even Lars.”  
  
“Oh come on.”  
  
“No one, Kirk.”  
  
“Fine.” Kirk walked out the front door. “Cross my heart, yadda yadda.”  
  
“Great. Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” He waved over his shoulder. “Make sure to hide those boxes though.”  
  
“I will—”  
  
“‘Cause Jase is coming tomorrow.”  
  
James gaped. “ _What_.”  
  
“I told him to!”  
  
“Kirk!”  
  
“See ya!”  
  
“ _Kirk!_ ”  
  
Kirk was already speeding away when James ran down the lawn. “Fuck!”  
  
That night, after locking down  _both_  his garage and office doors, James grumbled under the covers, thinking about square white-bred Jason and his shitty fucking songs he wouldn’t like, all the while bemoaning about the quality alone time he was missing. And then Jason will bitch about how he never pays attention to anything he likes, and that’ll turn into a war, and then Jason will bring up his side-projects, and he will have to resist the urge to punch him, and then alcohol, and then fists, and then more verbal fights, maybe a physical one, and then—  
  
James’s eyes went wide.  
  
Then he’d shove a cock up his ass.  
  
He blushed red.  
  
Turn that fucking machine to high power.  
  
His hands drifted down.  
  
And loosen that damn bitch up.  
  
“Ugh.”  _Godfuckingdamnit_. “Nngh.”  _I did not just think that._  “Shit. Fuck.”  _I didn’t._  “Uuhn.”  _Ah fuck I did._  
  
He pulled on his hard dick inside his pajama pants.  _I shouldn’t._ His hand went faster.  _Fuck, I can’t._ James growled and hissed through his gritted teeth, rubbing his cheek on his pillow. _It’s fucking Jason!_  
  
Behind his lids, Jason squealed and moaned like a butt machine boy, just like in the movies, chanting:  _Yes yes yes YES—_  
  
“ _Shit!”_  
  
James’s hips jerked up. Come wetted the front of his pants. He slowed down his hand, shivering under the covers, until he slumped onto the mattress, finally spent.  
  
“Fuck.” He slipped his dirty hand out, wiping it on the sheets. “Why me.”


	7. Crash Course in Machine Fucking

It was  _exactly_  as difficult as he thought it’d be. But the initial elaborate plan of listening to Jason’s music, drinking some beer, eating some food, drinking more beer, listening to more music, touching, kissing, jerking off, whispering “I wanna show you something,” ushering him into the garage, showing him some porn, more touching, more kissing, more jerking off, and then the proverbial dildo-showing to the actual machine fucking—all of it didn’t matter in the end.  
  
Not when Jason couldn’t shut the fuck up about his goddamn music.  
  
“So I couldn’t decide between Blue Oyster Cult or this Elvis song, and I know what you’re going to say, man. Elvis, what the hell, fuck that shit, right? But it’d be awesome to cover! Here, listen to this.”  
  
“I don’t think—”  
  
“It’s from his second album, first track. Rip It Up!”  
  
The track started on the stereo. James sighed. “I’ve heard it—”  
  
“It’s one of my favorites. My dad and I used to play this a lot when we would go riding together out in the countryside, and I wasn’t really open to it at the time, but he’d introduce it slowly to me. One song here, then another, and then a few more—” He flopped onto the couch beside James. “—Until eventually, all I would want to listen to was Elvis, Elvis,  _Elvis!_  I guess my dad brainwashed me or something, haha. Fucking cool he did that though. I remember this one time, he and I were debating about which Elvis track was better, and we were somewhere in Dearborn or something like that—”  
  
“Jason.”  
  
“—or maybe it was near Westland, I’m not too sure now. I guess my memory is going, right? Anyway, so we were out, debating Elvis, listening to I think the fourth or fifth album, and he’d—”  
  
“ _Jason._ ”  
  
“—start playing along to the guitar, and I’d do the bass, sometimes the drums, and we’d do that to prove our point. He’d be like, ‘son listen to that swinging beat,’ and I’d always focus on the rhythm, so we’d just debate on the songs more on a performance stand-point, and then we’d debate on the lyrics, and then the overall delivery and how it came together.”  
  
“That’s great, but—”  
  
“Now to  _really_  judge Elvis’s performances, he’d break out the live tapes. And I’m talking vinyls, and these old bootlegs that were from videos, fan-done stuff, so fucking cool, and he’d—”  
  
James groaned. He slumped down.  
  
“—go through them in order, right, by year. So we’d start on the first year and we’d go through them, well, not that we’d do them all in one go, but whenever we were debating he’d instantly go to the tapes, pick the year that he thinks Elvis performed best and then—”  
  
“I don’t fucking care!” James turned to Jason. “Just put on your fucking songs and get the fuck out of my house.”  
  
Jason’s enthusiasm deflated—for a split second. And then came the Jason that James waited for: pissy whiny Jason. “What the fuck, man? I thought we were cool now. I’m not here trying to start shit, so why are you starting shit? I’m here as a friend to play some great music and get your opinion and you’re here doing this shit to me. What did I do? I’m trying to just tell a story. I’m not doing anything wrong. You don’t have to act this way with me. I don’t get it. Why jump on me when I’m doing nothing?”  
  
“You’re—”  
  
“Nuh-uh, let me finish. I know what you’re gonna say. Oh yeah, James, I know you. I bet you’re gonna say, ‘you’re an idiot Jase,’ or ‘your taste in music is shitty,’ or ‘you’re wrong, I’m not jumping on you,’ or some shit like that. Why am I always the one who’s wrong? Why can’t you back off for once? I wasn’t doing anything! Shit man, you don’t have to attack me all the time. I thought we were over that side-project shit.”  
  
“I didn’t—”  
  
“What, say anything? Oh yes you were! You were going to. You’ve been wanting to say it for awhile, haven’t you James? You aren’t over it, I know it. Kirk didn’t get this treatment, did he? You let him play whatever. He doesn’t get attacked like I do. Kirk gets to do whatever, and I have to do everything you and Lars say, right?”  
  
James’s left eye twitched.  
  
“As a matter of fact, I think it’s bullshit Kirk asked me to come here to your house, when you should’ve done it yourself! What, lost my number?”  
  
 _Get the dildo. Shut him up. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._  
  
“And you can’t have lost my number, you always call me when you want to go out to a game or go dirt biking or whatever the fuck. But that’s the only time you call me, just when you want someone to go with you or when you need something. You don’t call me just to hang out over your house, like I’m sure you do with Lars, or with Kirk, or Pepper or whomever. Aren’t we friends?”  
  
 _Gag him. Find a rag. Use your shirt. Anything._  
  
“I mean, here I am, hanging out with James, my main cat, listening to some great fucking Elvis, and you won’t even pay attention to it! Or to me! What did I do? Hell, at least listen to the fucking music, if you don’t even want to listen to me!”  
  
 _Grab a fucking pillow case! Shove it over his head!_  
  
“Hello, Earth to James! Are you even fucking listening to me?”  
  
 _Put your dick in his mouth for fuck’s sake!_  
  
“Ugh! See? You haven’t even listened to a word I said. This is exactly the problem I’m talking about, James. I respect you so much, and you don’t show that same respect back—”  
  
 _DO SOMETHING!_  
  
“—Because all you do is tune me and treat me like shit and— _hey! Hey!_  What the fuck are you doing? James! James, let me go! Let me go dammit! What are you—what the hell? The garage? What are we doing here—wait, what’s that? On the floor? …Is that—oh shit, no! Let me go! Stop it! Stop—MFGHF! MFFHF! MFFF!”  
  
James slapped another piece of tape over his mouth for good measure. “ _Finally_.”  
  
“MFMFH! MFFH! MFRM MRM MFMF!”  
  
“Yeah yeah, and a mrrfrrmrfrfff to you too, dick.” He slapped his ass before yanking his pants and underwear completely off his kicking legs, managing, somehow, to avoid being kicked himself.  
  
Jason squirmed like a worm over the work bench, wrists taped to the front legs. James snatched up the left leg and held it down to one of the back legs with one hand, using his teeth to pull and cut more tape with the other. He easily taped it down by the ankle, doing the same to the other thrashing left, until Jason was a nice, immobile, helpless, naked (and hot) specimen for his experiment.  
  
He patted Jason’s back. “I really suggest relaxing. You’re only gonna hurt yourself.”  
  
Jason’s answer was the frantic rocking of the work bench, the thrashing of his swinging head, and another “MRMFRM MFRMFM MRFMFM.”  
  
“It ain’t so bad really.” He slid his hand up and down Jason’s spine. “That one you saw when we were coming in, the Monkey Tango? That’s a good one. But obviously, with the way you’re situated right now—” His fingers skipped down and slid through Jason’s crack. “—I’ve got another one in mind.”  
  
The table rocked. “MRFMRF MRFRFMRF!!”  
  
“Hell, I’ve been wanting to use it for some time now.” He turned away to the back of the garage, pulling away the veil he placed there earlier. “The problem is…” James bent down and picked it up. “Handheld machines aren’t great solo. Almost hurt myself trying to use it on me.”  
  
He turned back to struggling Jason, rubbing his hand over the dildo on top. His eyes followed the red body of the handheld machine—the body of a drill, with the “thruster” in place of a saw’s blade.  
  
The Fuck Saw.  
  
“But… you should enjoy it.” He pressed the trigger. The dildo on top vibrated. James smirked. “I know I will.”  
  
He came forward and laid the machine on the yoga mat Kirk left behind, picking up the tube of Astroglide instead.  
  
“Now.” He coated his fingers. “Let’s get you ready.”  
  
Jason stopped thrashing when he felt cool fingers on his ass. “Mrfff?” He jerked his head up, straining to look up and over his shoulder. “Mrfrfrf…” A slow, muffled moan slipped out, when those cool fingers slipped inside, stretching him out. “Mmm…” His head flopped down, his arms and legs relaxing. “Mm…”  
  
“That’s right.” James moved his fingers faster. “Relax.”  
  
“Mmm… mmm…”  
  
“Relax, Jase.” He slowly pulled them out. “Deep breaths.”  
  
“Mm…” His hips moved a little. “Mm.”  
  
“Good.” James picked up the machine. “Relax, Jase.” He grinned, pushing the head of the dildo to his ass. “Nice and easy…”  
  
“Mm!” Jason squirmed. His breathing picked up. “Mm, mmm.”  
  
“Yeah.” He pressed the trigger, chuckling, “Just like that.”  
  
His free hand steadied the body vibrating in his hold. Six settings, each one more intense than the first, each one triggered by the button beneath his index finger. He watched intently the Vac-U-Lock dildo pumping in and out of Jason’s ass nice and slow, listening to Jason’s muffled moans. It was enough to draw his dick out and jerk off, but not yet.  
  
 _Next._  
  
He pushed the button. Setting Two. Faster pumps. Harder vibrations.  
  
Jason’s breathing labored. His moans went louder.  
  
 _Not good enough._  
  
Press, press. Setting Four.  
  
The vibrations traveled down to his belly his chest. The pumps made Jason’s ass jiggle.  
  
And Jason wasn’t moaning. He was  _squealing_.  
  
Head trashing, sweat falling, table rocking, high-pitched  _squealing_.  
  
 _Yes._  James licked his dry lips.  _Yes!_  
  
Thrashing his head back and forth, arms and legs twisting in tape, sweat drops darkening the concrete garage floor like the precome leaking from Jason’s swinging hard cock, heavy breathing, sweaty back, sweaty hair, taut muscles—  
  
He pressed the button again.  
  
Setting Six. Maximum stroking power. 2500 strokes per minute.  
  
And then Jason  _shrieked._  
  
James gaped, watching Jason jerk hard enough to make the table jump off the concrete, coming over the floor.  
  
He pulled the machine out, hitting the power button underneath the base and resting it back on the mat. Muffled, pained groans filled the wet air, and he stood up on shaky legs, his big hands landing on Jason’s back, stroking the skin up and down.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
James circled around the bench. He kept slid a hand up to Jason’s head, the other flying to his crotch.  
  
 _Fuck._ His fingers fumbled with the zipper, drawing it down. _Fucking shit._  He panted through his mouth and nose, drawing his hard dick out, yanking Jason’s head up at the same time.  
  
Big blue eyes begged up at him.  
  
Beneath the tape, James heard Jason groan his name.  
  
“Shit.” He let go of his hair.  
  
Jason kept his head up, wincing when James yanked the tape off. And he thankfully said nothing. Only panted for air.  
  
“Fucking shit.” He grabbed his hair again and aimed his dick for Jason’s mouth. “Take it. Fuck.”  
  
Those eyes stayed on him as he watched his cock disappear between Jason’s red lips and out. In and out. In and out. Cheeks stuffing, cheeks hollowing.  
  
“ _Fuck._ ”  
  
A wince. A choked sound. A whimper,  _slurp_ , a moan, Jason’s moan.  
  
“ _Fuuuuck_.”  
  
His fingers squeezed the handful of Jason’s hair, and he tilted his head back, thrusting his hips faster. “Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck,”  _I’m fucking Jason’s mouth, I’m fucking his fucking mouth, I’m fucking,_  “ _fuuuck!_ ”  
  
His hips pressed against Jason’s face, his legs trembling as he came hard. He felt and heard him choke and pulled out quick, smearing Jason’s cheek with his cock for a second, before pulling away.  
  
He kept Jason’s head up while his orgasm subsided. Once he felt ready to move, James tucked his cock back into his jeans, zipped himself up and let Jason’s hair go.  
  
“So,” James panted. “How was it?”  
  
Jason moaned, “ _Damn_.”  
  
“Right?”  
  
Jason lifted his head up. “Can I have it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“James—”  
  
“Whine, and you get it again.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Ugh.” Jason’s head flopped down.  
  
He allowed Jason into his bedroom to have a quick shower, while he cleaned up shop in the garage. After dumping all of the records Jason brought over back into Jason’s hands, James escorted him to the door and said, “This stays between us, got it?”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“You tell Lars, I kill you.”  
  
“Of course. Never. I promise. You have my word James. What just happened is between us and I will never, ever,  _ever_  tell Lars or Kirk or anyone. Ever.”  
  
He pushed Jason out the door. “Good.” And he quickly added as he closed it, “Feel free to tell Kirk though. You two can compare.”  
  
“ _WHAT?!_ ”  
  
James shut the door in Jason’s face, quickly locking it.


	8. Where The Fucking Machines Are

The next day, James woke up a little past noon to the sound of rampant knocking on his front door. “Ugh.” He grabbed the pillow beside him and stuffed it over his head. “Go away.”  
  
The knocks turned into pounds.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
James let them go on. He still tingled from the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that… and all those nights before that. All those body signals told him one thing:  _stay the fuck in bed._  
  
Then, they stopped.  
  
He slowly pulled the pillow away from his face.  
  
Nothing.  
  
James smiled and closed his eyes.  
  
“Finally.”  
  
And then:  _BZZ BZZ BZZ BZZ_  from his pager on the nightstand.  
  
Right after:  _RING RING RING RING_  from the house phone next to it.  
  
James groaned, covering his face with the pillow again.  
  
“Dammit Lars.”  
  
Not even a minute later, he left the bedroom, grumbling all the way down the stairs, still half-asleep. And when he opened the front door, there was Lars, dressed in white shirt, blue jeans, black Raybans, cross-armed. He looked—James peered at him—something, he couldn’t tell. Maybe annoyed?  
  
“Hey Lars—”  
  
“Where is it?”  
  
“Where’s what?”  
  
“The fucking machine.”  
  
James felt his body wake up for real. “Uh.”  _What._  “Uh.”  _Who._  
  
“The. Fucking. Machine.”  
  
“Uh.”  
  
“Tch.” Lars elbowed his way past James. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”  
  
“Uh.” He shook his head. “Wait. Wait!” He closed the door finally, following Lars into the house. “The  _what_  machine? I don’t know—”  
  
“Kirk told me.”  
  
“—what we’re going to do since Kirk will be dead tomorrow.”  
  
“We can’t afford Dave.” Lars headed into the kitchen, peeking into all cupboards and cabinets. “How many do you have now? Seven, eight?”  
  
“He actually  _told you_?”  
  
“I might’ve wheedled it out of him.”  
  
“You gave him the Inquisition, then.”  
  
“He kept limping and wouldn’t tell me why. You know how much that irks me? Fuck. Imagine giving a dog a big fucking bone, waving it over his head on a goddamn stick, swinging it back and forth, only to tell him, ‘oh no it’s not a bone, it’s cat nip,’ or some shit. I’m gonna know it’s not cat nip, okay. I see a bone, then I’m gonna eat that fucking bone.”  
  
“Poor Kirk.”  
  
“I didn’t ask for all the details.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Shut up.” Lars crawled onto the floor, checking under the table. “Shit, not here either.” He stood back up. “So where is it? Bedroom? Office? The studio?”  
  
“Can’t we  _eat_  first or something?”  
  
“Mm.” Lars shrugged. “I guess.” He pointed at James. “But you’re answering all of my questions. Got it?”  
  
“Like I have a choice.”  
  
Lars grinned.  
  
After cooking together scrambled eggs, toast and bacon, they ate across from each other at the kitchen table in relative silence. Once Lars finished his plate though, that silence ended.  
  
“How long?”  
  
James grunted, gesturing to his plate. “Can I finish my food first?”  
  
“No. Answer the question.”  
  
“Ugh.” He finished his toast. “Two weeks.”  
  
“How many did you buy?”  
  
“Eight.”  
  
“ _Eight_  machines?”  
  
“That’s all I could find for the male market.”  
  
“Online?”  
  
“Duh.”  
  
“You actually figured out the internet.”  
  
“Better than you can.”  
  
“Fuck you.” Lars grinned. “Have you used them all?”  
  
“Almost. Kirk obviously tried one.” James eyed him, lifting a forkful of eggs to his lips. “Jason tried another.”  
  
“JASON?”  
  
James nodded and smiled as he chewed, forking the last of his eggs.   
  
“Jason Boring-As-Shit Newsted, and a fucking machine. Ho-ly fucking shit.”  
  
“Mhm.” He ate the rest.  
  
“Wow. I mean, Kirk, hello, that’s obvious. He has no qualms about anything ever. But  _Jason?_  Damn.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I’m stunned.”  
  
James wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He was more stunned.” He crumbled it up, throwing it on the table. “Had to ‘coax’ him into it.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“What, you want details?”  
  
“All I got from Kirk was ‘it was fucking awesome and I came like a motherfucker,’ so why not.”  
  
“Didn’t even tell you the model?”  
  
“Nothing. And believe me, I tried.”  
  
“Hm.”  _Guess he could shut his mouth after all._  He leaned back into his chair, folding his hands on his lap. “Well, his was the Vick Versatile—”  
  
Lars snorted.  
  
James smiled. “And Jason’s was the Fuck Saw.”  
  
“FUCK SAW?”  
  
“Fuck Saw.”  
  
“That sounds so fucking scary and weird and ridiculous I need to see it right now.”  
  
“I thought fucking machines weren’t your thing.”  
  
“They aren’t. But I can’t believe you of all people decided to get them, and actually  _use them_. Hell, I can’t believe you have eight of them, let alone one! And the fact that you had Kirk use one, and then JASON?  _Man_. Stop holding out on me here. I need to see at least one in the flesh.”  
  
“Hm.”  _Likely story, Lars._  James stood up from the table. “Follow me.”  
  
“Awesome.”  
  
He led them to the garage, unlocking the door in three places, before opening it up. With a flip of the switch, the lights came on, and he ushered Lars inside.  
  
“Here they are.”  
  
Lars slowly walked toward the line of fucking machines laid out in a row on the concrete floor. “Wow.”  
  
James closed the door. He watched him, leaning against the garage wall, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
A few minutes of walking up and down the line, Lars finally stopped in front of the Pleasure Box. “This is so…  _weird._ Of all the fetishes for you to get, it’s this one.” He walked along the line again, eyeing each machine. “Which one’s was Kirk’s?”  
  
“Fifth one.”  
  
“Ah.” Lars stopped in front of it. He tilted his head to the left. To the right. “Huh.”  
  
“Weird?”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
James heard an obvious breathiness in Lars’s voice.  _Right._  “Jason’s is down to your left.”  
  
Lars’s head turned, following the line to the end. He chuckled at Lars’s loud exclamation and the way he scrambled down.  
  
“Holy shit! Oh my God, look at this thing.” Lars picked up the Fuck Saw in both hands. “It’s like a power tool with a dildo on top.” He pressed the trigger. The dildo thrusted and vibrated with a loud  _wrrr_. “Oh man. This is crazy.” He turned to James. “And you fucked  _Jason_  with this?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“How fast does this thing go?”  
  
“250 strokes per minute.”  
  
“Woah.”  
  
“Kirk’s was 180.”  
  
“Did you, uh—” Lars glanced at the machine briefly. “Go all the way?”  
  
“With Jase? Yeah.” He enjoyed the sight of Lars’s cheeks flushing pink. “Kirk, I have no idea. He fucked himself without my help. I’m guessing he went to the maximum power.” James shrugged. “No reason not to.”  
  
“Uh. Right.” Lars turned away. “Right.” He rested the machine back in line. “Well! Thanks James.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs, shuffling in place. “This was, uh… weird. And hilarious.” Lars walked down the line again. James noticed his face turned a deeper color of pink. “Yeah. Fucking… yeah.” He walked over to James. “Be careful not wearing you or the others out, huh? Only two days before we’re back on tour.”  
  
James blocked Lars from the doorknob. He loomed over him. “Don’t you wanna try one?”  
  
“Uh?”  
  
“There’s still one I haven’t used.”  
  
“Uh.” Lars blinked up at him. “What?”  
  
James nodded over Lars’s shoulder. “Count ‘em yourself.”  
  
He watched Lars slowly take a step back and turn around. A few seconds later: “Oh. There are only seven…”  
  
“Yep. Never assembled the last one.” He took a step towards Lars, chest pressing back. “It’s a bit—” He bent his head towards Lars’s ear. “Special.”  
  
He heard Lars’s gasp. “S-Special?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” His lips brushed Lars’s ear. “I think you’d like it.” His hands settled on Lars’s hips. “After all… Kirk liked it, right?” His nose brushed warm skin. “And Jase sure as hell liked it too.”  
  
From this close, he heard and saw Lars’s pink tongue lick his dry lips. “I don’t…” He heard as well, all too loud, the quiver in his whisper. It matched the shiver James felt in his hands, against his chest. “I’m not… into that.”  
  
He squeezed Lars’s hips. “Yes you are.” His lips curved into a smile at Lars’s sharp gasp. “You want it, Lars. You want what they got—what I got, what you were too afraid to get yourself. Just admit it.” His tickled down the back of Lars’s ear, down the curve of his neck. “It turns you on.”  
  
“James…”  
  
“Shh.” One hand slid down to Lars’s crotch. “Just admit it.” The shiver intensified. “C’mon, Lars.” He chuckled at the way Lars jerked and gasped when he cupped his crotch. “You’re already hard.”  
  
“ _Ahh_. Shit. Fuck.” Lars grabbed James’s wrist. “James.” He pulled at his hand. “Stop.”  
  
“Admit it,” he hissed.  
  
“James—”  
  
“ _Do it._ ”  
  
“Fine! I want it! I want to try it, okay? Fuck!” Lars yanked on James’s wrist harder. “Let me go.”  
  
With one last squeezed to his crotch, James released him. “There.” Both his arms secured tight around Lars’s waist. “That wasn’t so bad.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“Don’t act all pissy.”  
  
“Just let me go.”  
  
“Lars—”  
  
“Let me  _go._ ”  
  
“Hm.” His arms unfurled. “Go shower and undress. I’ll set it up.”  
  
Lars grumbled something in Danish, wiggling out of James’s hold. He kept grumbling as he left the garage, heading for the stairs, his whole face a bright pink.  
  
James watched him disappear up the steps. Once Lars was gone, he headed for the office, unlocking again three more locks and opening the door.  
  
Inside, on the ground, was the only box left. It wasn’t like the Fuck Saw. The machine wasn’t handheld. But without someone else in control of the power knob, this certain machine lost its allure. Until now.  
  
He picked it up and read the cover:  
  
 **THE SLAVE DRIVER. DISCIPLINING THE BITCHIEST OF SUBS SINCE 1995.**  
  
James headed back to the garage, grinning ear-to-ear.  _Only fitting Lars tries this one…_


	9. Battery

Half an hour later, Lars called down the stairs, “You ready?”  
  
James poked his head out of the garage. “Just about!”  
  
“Well, hurry up! I’m fucking losing my patience here.”  
  
“Don’t lose your resolve either.”  
  
“Hey! If I say I’m gonna do it, then I’m gonna do it.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
“Then get your ass down here!”  
  
“Fine!”  
  
He retreated back into the garage, leaving the door open. The sound of pounding footsteps echoed above him.  
  
At his feet stood the Slave Driver, a slick black fucking machine, mounted up and angled down, connected to a steel stockade with a pewter finish. Four cushions laid on either side of the front and back horizontal pieces of steel, support he placed just in case for Lars’s arms and legs.  
  
After fixing a few more screws, James knelt up from the ground, dumping the tools to the side. “There. Done.”  
  
His fingers smoothed over the stockade itself: a circle of steel connected to a vertical piece of steel. His dick twitched, imagining Lars in this again, like he had the past half-hour: Lars, on all fours, arms and legs equidistant enough to distribute his weight accordingly, ankles and wrists cuffed to each horizontal piece of steel, his neck locked into the circle of the stockade…  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
Helpless. Immobile.  
  
He eyed the controller next to the machine.   
  
Completely at his mercy.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
James turned around. Lars stood in the doorway with a towel around his waist, gawking at the machine. He smirked. “I thought you were ready.”  
  
“Uh?”  
  
“You’re actually dressed.”  
  
“No I’m not.”  
  
James gestured to the towel.  
  
“You’re an idiot. I just got out of the shower, dick.”  
  
“Then take it off and get over here.”  
  
Lars’s cheeks flushed pink again.  
  
James faced him. “Well?”  
  
“Um.” He padded forward a few steps, leaving wet footprints on the concrete. “Is it… safe?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I don’t want to get into that if it’s—”  
  
“For  _fuck’s_  sake, Lars, quit stalling and get  _over_  here. Fuck.” He walked over to him. “And to think. I thought you had no fear.”  
  
Lars frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Fuck you it’s nothing! I’m not afraid of shit!”  
  
He stood in front of Lars. “Then why aren’t you naked?”  
  
In one move, Lars jerked the towel off his hips to the floor. “Done.”  
  
“Like that’s impressive.”  
  
“Hmph.” He elbowed past James for the machine, fists swaying at his naked sides. “Let’s get this over with.”  
  
James stared at his backside. His smirk turned evil.  
  
 _Gotcha._  
  
Lars stood beside the machine, hands on his hips. “So how do I get into this, uh?”  
  
“Easy.” James came to his side. “Get on all fours.”  
  
There was a long pregnant pause before Lars followed through. Long enough that James caught another blush, heard a soft gasp, and watched the tremor that shook Lars’s body from head to toe.   
  
That tremor stayed with Lars as he bent down and situated his arms and legs over the pieces of steel. He slowly placed his head into the open stockade. “I guess I put this here, huh?”  
  
“Yep.” James bent down and grabbed Lars’s right ankle. It jolted in his grasp. “Hold still.”  
  
“W-What’re you doing?”  
  
“Getting you situated.” He strapped it into the leather cuff. “For your safety.”  
  
“Um.” Lars lifted his head up to look over his shoulder. James caught his wide-eyed scared look as he circled around to the other side. “What do you mean… safety?”  
  
“Apparently this machine is pretty powerful.” He strapped the left ankle in, equally as tight. “It’s best to have you locked into these cuffs here, so you don’t get injured.”  
  
“You—” Lars’s head followed James scooting up to his left wrist. “You can get injured?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” He fixed the cuff. “But don’t worry. These’ll help you out.” He gave Lars a reassuring smile, patting his secured wrist.  
  
Lars weakly smiled back. “Alright. I trust you.” He followed James around to his right wrist. “I mean, you’ve done this enough, what with all those machines and all, heh heh. You’ve got some experience here.”  
  
James nodded, fixing the last cuff.  
  
“Right. So. It’ll be okay. Nothing to worry about.” Lars swallowed when James stepped away. His hands flexed in the cuffs. “Right, James?” He looked up at James as he moved in front of him and bent down, hands reaching for his head. “James?”  
  
“Yeah, Lars.” His fingers slipped into Lars’s hair. “You’ll be just fine.” He pulled him forward, easing his head further into the stockade, until his neck aligned perfectly with the steel ring. “Hold still.” And he locked the top of the ring down and around Lars’s neck, locking it on the side with a loud click. “Done.” He patted Lars’s head, smiling down at him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
  
That blush returned, triple-folded. “No…” Lars slowly licked his lips. “Not at all.”  
  
“Told you. How’re the cuffs? Not too tight?”  
  
Lars looked away and flexed his hands again. Then his ankles. “Ah, nope.”  
  
“Good.” He slipped his hands away and stepped around him, heading to the back where the machine stood. “Let’s get started then.”  
  
He knelt behind Lars, grabbing the bottle of Astroglide he placed there earlier. Lars’s arms and legs squirmed a little as he clicked the top off and coated his fingers.  _He’s actually nervous._  With his two fingers ready, he poured some more between Lars’s crack, smiling when he jolted. The stockade stayed static; the cuffs kept him in place.  
  
“Shit that’s cold,” Lars hissed.  
  
“Sorry.” He rubbed his wet fingers over Lars’s hole. “I left it here overnight.”  
  
“Right.” The arms and legs flexed again. “Uh, James?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Maybe, uh— _shit_.” He pressed a finger slowly into his ass. “Maybe I should,  _uhn_ , do it?”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“This.”  
  
“I don’t mind.” He pressed it deeper. “I did it for Jason.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Mhm. Besides…” A few more easy, slow thrusts, and his knuckle pressed against Lars’s ass. “You’re a bit tied up right now.”  
  
“Heh. Right…” James smiled at the sound of Lars’s soft gasp, followed by his loud gulp. “For my safety and all that.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
He let his finger stay there, feeling Lars squeeze and relax around it, before he slowly pulled it out, and then back in. Easy thrusts, in and out, watching himself move in Lars’s ass. It was all so different. Kirk did it all himself. With Jason, he had to go fast. But with Lars like this, he had all the control. He could take his time, do what he saw in those pornos—especially in that last one. Poor Captain Titan Cam, helpless in a machine, submitting to his alien captors and their big alien dicks, g into each amazing orgasm, one after the other, his cock milked repeatedly until he couldn’t stand it. But they wouldn’t let him go. They’d make him do more. Take more. Take them all.  
  
Becoming their pet. Their slut.  
  
His finger pulled all the way out.  
  
Powerless. Helpless.  
  
He pressed two fingers to Lars’s hole.  
  
 _All mine._  
  
His cock twitched when Lars moaned loud.  
  
Arms and legs flexed again. The stockade stayed grounded. His fingers scissored inside tight heat, stretching Lars out. And as he watched his hand move, his fingers plunging in and out, speeding up with every thrust, twisting on the thrust in, twisting on the thrust out, there was a fleeting thought in his head that stunned and turned him on at the same time:  _I want to fuck him. I want to fuck him right now._  
  
Lars’s loud hiss broke his concentration. “ _James_.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do it.” Another moan. Heavy breathing. “M’ready,” he panted.  
  
He stopped his hand, fingers deep inside Lars.  _Do it. Do it._  He swallowed hard.  _Fuck him._  He eased his fingers out.  _Fuck him right now._  
  
His hands flattened on Lars’s ass.  
  
 _Do it do it do it._  
  
Lars whined, “ _Jaaames_.”  
  
He squeezed his cheeks hard.  _Fuck._  James gritted his teeth.  _Fucking shit._  
  
His body went on automatic. He situated the machine right, aimed the dildo at his hole, the tip pushing a little ways in, grabbed the control, knelt back on the floor, stared at his ass and  _wrr click_ the dildo pushed in  _click_  the dildo pushed out  _click_ Lars moaned _click_ and sighed _click_  tensed up _click_  relaxed. He turned the dial some  _click click click_  and Lars moaned louder.  _Pump pump pump click click click_  Lars hissed, “Fuck.”  _Click click click click_  he turned the dial up _click click click pump pump pump_  Lars groaned something Danish _click click click_ and sighed again  _click click click._  
  
James scooted closer.  
  
It should’ve been enough.  
  
He untied the sash of his robe, slipping off his shoulders.  
  
Watching this  _should’ve_  been enough.  
  
His right hand tickled over the small of Lars’s back. Beneath him, Lars vibrated, and bucked, and sighed, and moaned, and arched and tensed up and relaxed and tensed again. He groaned, hissed, strangled out a sharp whine—his left hand turned the switch up—and yelped, “ _Fuck!_ ”  
  
This should’ve been enough. The heavy panting and heavy breathing, the sweat on his skin and his hair, the curled fingers and curled toes, the muscles bulging on his back, his biceps, forearms, thighs, calves. It should’ve been, but…  
  
Lars whined, “ _Please._ ”  
  
James groaned under his breath. His hand turned the dial up one more—to the highest setting.  
  
“ _Ah!_ ” Lars yelped again. “ _Fuck! FUCK!_ ” His head in the stockade jerked down. “Oh fuuuuck yes.  _Yesss_.”  
  
 _Do it._  His hand left the control for his hard cock.  _Fucking do it._  
  
“Oh God fucking—” Lars trembled all over. “Fuck. Fuck. I can’t.” He whined, “ _I can’t. I. I—”_ And squealed, “ _Fuck!”_  
  
Hot come spurted onto the mat.  
  
James’s hand slammed down on the ‘off’ button.  
  
 _It’s not enough!_  
  
He pulled the machine out of Lars and out of his way.  _Fuck him. Fuck him._ His lubed hand pumped and jerked himself off quick.  _Fuck him fuck him—_ his hand grabbed Lars’s left hip, the other aimed and— _fucking fuck him!_  
  
“ _Uuugh!_ ” He pushed into Lars in one thrust. “Fuck!” His hands squeezed Lars’s hips, fucking him hard and fast, jerking him back with every thrust. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” his knees scraped the concrete, his nails dug into skin, his balls slapped his ass, “ah  _fuck_. Shit. Fuck.” And he went faster. “ _Fuck_.” He tensed up. “Fucking—ohhh fuck,  _fuck—_ ” His body burned up, he threw his head back, his neck went taut  _oh fuck shit fuck_  “—fuu _uuck!_ ”  
  
One last thrust, and he came inside him, his body tensed up and shivering, riding his orgasm out.  
  
“Uhhn.” He slumped forward onto Lars’s back, head resting on his shoulder. “Uhn.” His hands slowly released Lars’s hips, palms smoothing over the skin. “Fuck.”  
  
Beneath him, Lars was… still. Still and quiet.  
  
James blinked the sweat out of his eyes. “Lars?” He cleared his throat. “Lars, you okay?”  
  
His answer was a soft, “Fuck.”  
  
He smiled, the little flutter of panic now gone.  _Alright. 1, 2, 3._  Slowly he rose up from Lars’s back, pulling out of him. His hands smoothed Lars’s lower back, down to his ass when he heard his whimper. “Stay still. I’ll get you out.”  
  
“Y’better,” Lars groaned.  
  
The ankle cuffs came off first, then the ones on his wrists. When he unlocked the ring around Lars’s neck, he watched Lars lift his head up, only to flop back down onto the mat, rolling to his side and curling up with a loud grunt.  
  
James plopped down beside him, stretching his sore knees out. “Hey.” He rested at hand on his shoulder. “You good?”  
  
“Mrmr.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed his shoulder. It trembled under his palm. “Just relax.” His hand moved down to his bicep, and then back up. “It’ll stop.”  
  
His hand had a mind of its own. By the time he stopped, he realized he had been rubbing Lars’s side, as well as his arm. That, and Lars had passed out.  
  
“Well, shit.” He shook his shoulder. “Lars.” His arm. “Lars, wake up.” His side. “Hey Lars.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“Let’s get out of here.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
He slipped an arm under Lars, pushing him up. “Come on.”  
  
“Uhn.” Lars blindly grabbed at his free hand. “Fuck.”  
  
James caught it. He helped Lars up into a sitting position and then to his feet. He kept an arm around Lars’s waist, the other securing Lars’s arm around his neck, and he led them out of the garage into the living room.


	10. Better Than Machine

“There.” He helped Lars lay back onto the couch. “Want some water or…?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lars whispered. His lips looked dry. “That’d be good.”  
  
He zipped in and out of the kitchen, coming back with a glass. Lars propped himself up onto shaky elbows, an equally shaky hand reaching for the glass. And James knelt down onto the carpet, bringing the rim to his lips, his arm winding back around Lars’s shoulders.  
  
After a few generous sips, he pulled the glass back. “Good?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks.”  
  
He let his shoulders go, resting the water on the nearby table. Lars flopped onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.  
  
James watched the rise and fall of his chest. His body still had a tremor.  
  
“Uh.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Need anything else?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh.”  _Okay. So._  James tapped his fingers on his thighs. _Now what?_ “Well. Uh.” He started to get to his feet. “Whenever you’re ready for a shower—”  
  
“You fucked me.”  
  
James froze.  
  
He watched Lars’s body tremor again.  
  
Slowly, his knees settled back into the rug.  
  
Lars said it again slower: “You. Fucked. Me.”  
  
He looked away. “Yeah.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
His hands fidgeted in his lap. “I…” He sighed.  _I don’t know, Lars. I don’t know what the fuck came over me. But you were there, and just, the way you were in that, and how it felt, and how you looked, I just—_  
  
“You didn’t fuck Kirk, right?”  
  
He shook his head no.  
  
“Or Jason.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“So why me?” He heard the couch shift. “Uh? Why me?”  
  
 _Because._  James lifted his head up and met Lars’s eye. “I like you.”  
  
Lars’s eyes went wide.  
  
James looked away again.  _Shit. What the hell did you just—_ he shut his eyes tight _. Argh, what are you thinking? Actually, that’s exactly it. You didn’t think. You never think. Brain before mouth, idiot. Now Lars not only knows about the damn fucking machines but he—_  
  
“You  _like_  me?”  
  
 _Fuck._  He nodded his head yes.  
  
More shifts from the couch. A foot brushed his leg briefly.  
  
Lars was getting up. Lars was gonna leave.  
  
 _I never should’ve watched that tape. I’m an idiot._  
  
Fingers touched his chin.  
  
James trembled.  
  
 _Goddamnit what the hell is wrong with me. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. What am I doing? So what if Lars knows? Get the hell off the floor and—_  
  
Lips touched his.  
  
His eyes flew open.  
  
Lars’s were closed.  
  
 _He’s kissing me._  
  
Sitting on the edge of the couch, bent over, with legs on either side of James, and a hand under James’s chin, was Lars, quietly kissing him.  
  
 _Holy shit._  
  
James pressed back for a few seconds, enjoying the softness of Lars’s lips and the warmth of his breath, before the kiss broke and Lars leaned back, smiling at him.  
  
“Fine fucking way to show me, uh.” He scratched James’s chin. “Pervert.”  
  
James smiled back. “Pot calling kettle.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Lars leaned in for another kiss, one James met this time. His arms went for Lars’s waist, pulling him down from the couch into his lap, and Lars went with ease, settling his arms around James’s neck. And when the kiss ended again, Lars pressed his forehead to James’s and said, “So. How much  _did_  you spend this month?”  
  
“Six grand.”  
  
“Your accountant is going to kill you.”  
  
“Fuck ‘em.”  
  
“With a machine?”  
  
“With the Fuck Saw.”  
  
Lars snorted, hugging James’s neck. “God.” He laughed, kissed James again and laughed again. “The fucking Fuck Saw.”  
  
“Great name, huh?”  
  
“Sounds stupid.”  
  
“You should try it.”  
  
“ _Oi._ ” They kissed again, falling back onto the carpet. Lars broke away briefly, whispering over his lips. “I’ll try many things, James Hetfield.” He kissed him again, and again, and then pulled away to add, “But you are never using the Fuck Saw on me.”  
  
James smiled into their next kiss.  _We’ll see._  
  
Two months later, after the next leg of the tour ended, James won.


End file.
